I feel my mother Africa, despite being born on stolen land.

I feel my mother Africa althought the blood of multi-racial generations runs in me. A biological womb I was born of, but mother Africa birthed my spirit.

A spirit; that had lost its way to a western way of thinking, traveling now no-mad-ically thru my mentals to the times I sat with others in the Nile Valley, studying the teachings of the TRUTH, which is where I met King James.

Introspectively I have finally figured out why I don’t fit here in this new Babylon with its same old traditions.

My spirit cried to mother Africa, wanting to know how it got lost, who am I? And where are my brothers and sisters? My righteous teachers were not religious anthropologists who were taught with broken dialect and omitted truths.

My lessons are not vanity, deceit, materialism, lust and greed, but meditation, peace, balance and unconditional love; love your enemies.

Mother Africa cries too. She misses her beloved as well. She misses her offspring that know themselves but don’t reach their potential and die. She still has children who are blind by western Babylon and its recklessness.

I feel my mother Africa, despite being born on stolen land.

I see my mother Africa, becoming a waste land.

I know my mother Africa’s babies are dieing by the devils hand.

My mother Africa was once the home of the beginning, now she is ending up diseased and plagued, and growing old with decay.

I cry for my mother Africa, but not a cry of pain. My mother Africa must die a wasteland so it can return as the soul’s paradise again.